


Midnight Vignettes I thru IV

by Surreal



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-30
Updated: 2001-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surreal/pseuds/Surreal
Summary: Four short, middle-of-the-night conversations between the boys.





	Midnight Vignettes I thru IV

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Midnight Vignettes 1 - "Boredom" by Surreal

Okay, now that school is OVER and I can finally write again, this is my little exercise in getting back into it. First two of these tonight, the other two sometime in the next few days, depending on how lazy I am. :)

Midnight Vignettes 1 - "Boredom"  
by Surreal  
Feedback:   
Archive: The Lone Slasher  
Homepage: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/  
Disclaimer: Ain't mine.  
Rating: PG  
Summary: The first of four short, middle-of-the-night conversations between the boys. Langly is bored.

* * *

I can feel him shifting and wiggling restlessly next to me. Usually if I just ignore him he stops and eventually falls asleep, because most of the time it just means he's amorous.

No such luck tonight, though. On either option.

"Did you ever notice how boring the ceiling is?"

He didn't really just say that, did he? Oy. "We live in a warehouse, Ringo. It was designed to be boring." My voice is muffled where I have my face squished into the pillow, one of my arms under the flattened material and my other hand resting on Ringo's shoulder.

He's not impressed. I feel him shift under my hand and a small squeak of springs as he slides closer. "We've lived here for what? Twelve years? I mean, we've done okay making it feel a bit more like a home...but it's still really...boring."

"Go back to sleep, Ringo," I mumble at him, patting his arm clumsily with my hand. It seems to do the trick, because he's quiet for a while.

"We should do something." Or not.

"We ARE doing something. Sleeping."

"No, I mean put something up on the ceiling so it's not so...gray."

Why me? Why do I have to fall in love with Mr. Walking Insomnia? "What, NOW?" Yeah, I'm real amicable at this time of morning. I'm GOING to shoot him.

"Why not?" Oh, great, now he's whining. Perfect.

I raise myself onto my elbows and squint at the clock. "Because, it's....4 AM."

"I can't sleep," he pouts.

Obviously. "Will you at least plot quietly? In your head?"

"Huh?" Dense, too. Gotta love this boy. "It's your room too, John. You should have a say in how we decorate it."

24/7 interior design by Ringo Langly. Wonderful. "I will. In the morning, at a reasonable hour."

"You really want to sleep, don't you?"

"YES!" He may just be getting it here! "I do. Please, just let me sleep."

"But -"

I'm not even going to let him finish that thought. With a fumbling, stumbling maneuver, I manage to flop myself onto my restless lover's body. He blinks up at me owlishly, surprised by my sudden presence within his field of vision. I lean down and kiss the tip of his nose. "There. Now you can't see the ceiling, it won't bother you, and you have to go to sleep."

"Oh." He kind of smiles and wraps his arms around me. "Okay."

I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh softly, matching my breathing to his rhythm and slowly relaxing into him.

He's asleep within minutes. And so am I.

~~<END>~~

 

* * *

 

Midnight Vignette 2 - "Brainstorm"  
by Surreal  
Feedback:   
Archive: The Lone Slasher  
Homepage: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/  
Disclaimer: Ain't mine.  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: The second of four short, middle-of-the-night conversations between the boys. Byers has a brainstorm.

* * *

"Damn it!!"

"OW! What the fuck?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Funny, you came perilously close to kneeing me in the nuts. You think that won't get my attention?"

"Oh. Sorry."

"What are you yelling about, anyway? Have a nightmare where you forgot to iron your socks?"

"You are pissy when you get woken up, you know that?"

"When I was having a great dream and suddenly get kicked in the groin, yes, I get a little pissy."

"I SAID I was sorry! I just...you know that article I'm doing on the overprescription of ADD and ADHD medications?"

"Please don't tell me you were dreaming about that."

"What? No, no, I was thinking, though. It just came to me, where I need to look for something. I gotta go check this out..."

"NOW???"

"Why not? I don't want to forget."

"John, hang on. It's not even five in the morning. Can't it wait a few hours?"

"I'll lose it!"

"I don't think that's in question here, babe."

"I mean, I'll forget. I have to do this before I do..."

"John, please. I'm warm, I'm comfortable, and I'm just a little sore from our...shall we say, aerobic activities a few hours ago."

"Huh? Oh -- OH. Geez, why didn't you tell me?"

"Probably because in true form, you passed out immediately afterwards."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I just want to sleep. With you here. Just a a few hours, that's all I ask."

"But --"

"God, you are so anal! Here, write it down. It'll still be there in the morning, I promise."

"Oh. Right. Thanks!"

~~<END>~~

 

* * *

 

Title: Midnight Vignette 3 - "Illness"  
Author: Surreal  
E-mail:   
Website: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/  
Feedback: Yes, please!  
Status: series, complete  
Category: Slash, Langly/Byers  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Byers is sick, and Langly can't sleep.  
Archive: The Lone Slasher  
Disclaimer: Not mine...not really anyone's at the moment!  
Notes: Third of four part vignette series

* * *

I've discovered in the past few hours that trying to hold in a cough just makes it worse.

When I get my breath back and the little flashy light things in front of my eyes dim down, I can feel Ringo's hand stroking up and down my arm. Feels nice, but it also means I woke him up.

"You okay?" he says quietly, leaning over my shoulder from where he is laying behind me. The warm weight of him is pressed close to me. Normally this would feel so good, but I'm really warm and it's making me uncomfortable.

I sniff a little, a futile attempt to clear my sinuses for a moment. "Yeah...sorry, trying not to wake you." I shift onto my back and slide away from him.

He doesn't get the clue and moves next to me again. His hand presses against my chest to hold me there. "You didn't. Haven't gone to sleep yet."

"Hmm? It's almost two-thirty." I know because I've been up all night, glaring at the clock every twenty minutes or so. Moving my head brings on another round of coughing and I have to roll onto my side to make it stop. His hand moves to my back and caresses in a slow, gentle massage. It eases my breathing and helps me relax again.

"I know," he says finally. "I can't sleep, I'm worried about you." His hand comes up to smooth back the short, sweat-dampened hairs from my temple. I move onto my back again and look up at him. He's propped up on one elbow, watching me with a look of pure concern on his face.

"I'm fine. It's just a cold." I know I sound like a stubborn five-year old, but I hate being mother-henned.

"You have a fever," he insists, placing his palm on my forehead as if to demonstrate the fact.

I turn my head and push his hand away. "I'm FINE," I snap, then immediately regret it when I see the hurt look on his face.

"You're sick. Let me fuss over you." His fingers brush lightly over the bare skin of my chest for a moment, then he lays his hand flat on my ribcage.

I sigh, which leads to a weak cough. "Well, I can't sleep, and you WON'T sleep..." I relent. I kick the covers off and shiver at the sudden rush of cold night air.

"Hey, don't do that. I know you have a fever and you feel hot, but this will only make it worse," he reaches down and covers my legs back up, but I glare at him and he lets the blanket stop at my waist. "Leave it there, John."

I give him my best pouty look but he is immune to it by now.

He kisses my lips very lightly and goes back to petting back the damp hair from my face. "Can I get you anything?"

I'd rather he just go to sleep and let me wallow in my own misery, but I know he won't. So..."Water would be good. My throat hurts."

"Okay, that I can do. Be right back." He gives me a sweet smile and slides out of bed, his hand trailing down my chest as he moves.

Another coughing fit takes me by surprise and by the time it's over I'm curled up on my side, gasping for breath. Ringo's warm hand is stroking my back gently, soothing me back into coherence. His voice comes through the fog, murmuring soft, nonsensical things.

He reaches across my body and helps me onto my back again, propping me up on a couple of pillows. "Better?" he asks, watching me closely.

I nod slightly, but the tiny movement makes me cough again. Frustrated, I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath. A pained tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, leaving a hot, wet trail.

Without warning I feel Ringo's tongue licking away the tear, then his lips against my temple. I open my eyes to find him smiling tenderly at me. "You okay now?"

"Yeah," I wheeze and smile back weakly.

"I brought some Nyquil and water, think you could swallow some?" He reaches over me to the nightstand where he set the small green bottle and a glass of water.

"I think so," I answer in a voice I hardly recognize as my own. I HATE being sick.

He pats my arm affectionately and gives me a dose of the strong, foul tasting liquid. It makes me cough AGAIN, but I manage to keep it down. He follows that quickly by pressing the glass of water to my lips and I take a few small sips to clear the taste from my mouth.

I start to settle back against the pillows but Ringo stops me with his hand. "Hang on..." he shifts onto his side and pulls one of the pillows out from under my head. He replaces it with his arm and I get what he wants.

Reaching up to turn off the light, I scoot back to spoon into him, lay my head on his arm and let him hold me.

He pulls the blanket back up over us and wraps his other arm around my chest, pulling me firmly against him. "Okay?" he whispers against the back of my neck.

"Yeah...s'good," I mumble, letting the medicine's affects pull me toward sleep. He kisses the back of my neck softly and I drift to sleep with him wrapped around me comfortably.

~~<>~~

End.

 

* * *

 

This is the last one! By the way...beta-ing was done on my own, so any mistakes in any of these belong to me. :)

~~<>~~

Title: Midnight Vignette 4 - "Restless"  
Author: Surreal  
E-mail:   
Website: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/  
Feedback: Yes, please!  
Status: complete, series  
Category: Slash, Langly/Byers, PWP  
Rating: R  
Summary: Langly can't sleep and it's Byers turn to help.  
Archive: Lone Slasher, Basement  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unjust captives of ugly rich men who don't know how to treat them right.  
Notes: Fourth of a four-part vignette series of midnight conversations. Full poem is at end; please take a moment to read it when you finish...it's worth it! :)

* * *

It's almost four in the morning and I haven't gone to sleep yet. As much as I hate nights like these, it does give me a rare and very pleasant opportunity.

I roll onto my side so I can watch John. Tonight he ended up on the side of the bed closer to the window and the faint moonlight barely makes it past the small slit between the two curtains. The little line of yellowish white streaks over the rumpled sheets covering his legs, up over his perfect, round ass and across his pale, lean back. The very end of the line ends in the middle of his hair, the red highlights shining out from the darker strands and completely in contrast to his soft, white skin.

His right arm is tucked under the pillow supporting his head, which is turned away from me. His left arm curls next to his face, where his hand makes a loose fist just above his head. His breaths are slow, even, and soft, the line of moonlight across his back shifting gently with each breath, in and out.

On impulse I reach out and lightly trace the line with one finger, from his hair down to where the sheet is bunched up at the small of his back.

I want to follow it further, but not on the sheet. I want to touch his skin. I push the covering off his body, all the way down to his feet. In his sleep he shivers slightly and mumbles. Moving my body closer to keep him warm, my hand continues its route, following the line over the soft curve of his ass and down to his thigh.

To reach the rest of him I have to slide down and stretch out my arm until it gets to the end, right at the peak of his right heel. The muscles all down his long, slim legs twitch just under the skin, and the tiny dark hairs tickle my palm as my hand moves down. When I get near the bottom of his right leg it tapers off gently down to his thin, bony ankle twisted to the left so his foot lays flat.

His foot twitches when I get there and I remember that he's ticklish. I glance up to see him turn his head my way and glance down over his shoulder at me.

"Whattre you doing?" he mumbles sleepily through a wide yawn.

"Sorry...wasn't trying to wake you up. Just...thinking, I guess. Got out of hand," I give him an embarrassed smile and slide back up to lay even with him.

"Kinda hard to sleep with you stripping off my covers and feeling me up," he chuckles softly, scooting onto his side and reaching out to stroke my arm. His hair is mussed and his eyes are half-shut, the lines from the pillow pressed into his sleepy face.

I reach up to ruffle his hair even more and he squirms away. "Don't DO that!" he wrinkles his nose at me and tries to pat down his hair. Why, I don't know, since it's four in the morning. That's just John.

"You are so cute when you're flustered."

"WHY are you even awake? And groping me?" He pauses then adds, "Okay, don't answer the last part."

"Can't sleep," I sigh, letting my hand stroke down his warm chest.

He catches my hand and squeezes it gently, his thumb caressing the inside of my wrist. "At all?"

I shake my head and disentangle my hand, resting it on his hip.

His hand runs lightly down my chest and stops just above my groin. "Do you want me to..." he starts, and I feel the back of his hand gently slide down the length of my cock. The sensation sends a warm tingle through my body, but this isn't what I want.

"No," I take his hand to stop him. "It's okay, I'm not...really in the mood for that..." I reach up to stroke his hair and kiss his lips lightly.

"Oh." He clears his throat and rubs my arm. He's quiet for a while, then moves away as if to get out of bed.

"Where you going?" I whine, reaching for him.

"I have an idea, something to help you go to sleep," he pats my hand and reaches for a pair of boxers on the floor, which happen to be mine. "It's in my room."

Wondering what my lover is up to, I lay back and wait for him to come back to me.

He returns to my room with a heavy-looking book in his hands, dropping it on the bed so he can strip the boxers off again. I start to reach for it but he smacks my hand. "Ah ah! This is my area, hands off."

Chastised, I flop onto my back as he slides into bed next to me, pulling the covers back up over us. Stretching out on his back and propped up against the headboard on his pillow, he pulls me up to sprawl halfway on his chest, his right arm wrapped around me snugly.

He opens the book, scans the index quickly and flips to the page he desires. Without my glasses I can't see for shit so I'm completely at his whim.

"Comfortable?" he asks me while rubbing my arm.

"Mmmhmmm," I answer, laying my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes.

His voice changes into a soft, breathy tone as he starts to read. I can tell right away it's a poem, which normally would annoy the hell out of me but not the way he is reciting it. It's...absolutely beautiful.

"Lay your sleeping head, my love...Human on my faithless arm..." he starts quietly.

The rise and fall of his chest with each breath is rhythmic and I soon find myself drifting with it, with his body and his voice in syncopation. His right hand moves on its own accord, softly caresses up and down my arm, up my ribcage and over my shoulder and back again. Over and over, never the same route twice and always in motion.

"Soul and body have no bounds...To lovers as they lie upon..." Smooth...perfect soft wonderful words floating over me and my mind begins to slowly wind down into the pattern, concentrating on only his voice and his body against me.

"Certainty, fidelity...On the stroke of midnight pass..." Drifting...matching my breathing with his, slow, even intake of air. No longer interested in opening my eyes. Simply resting, my body begins to fall into sleep one piece at a time with every one of his words.

Finally...not sure if I'm dreaming them anymore, but the words are there, the last of the poem floats past my mind and crosses the border between consciousness and dream... "Nights of insult let you pass...Watched by every human love."

~~<>~~

End.

Lullaby by W.H.Auden

Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,  
Human on my faithless arm:  
Time and fevers burn away  
Individual beauty from  
Thoughtful children, and the grave  
Proves the child ephemeral:  
But in my arms till break of day  
Let the living creature lie,  
Mortal, guilty, but to me  
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:  
To lovers as they lie upon  
Her tolerant enchanted slope  
In their ordinary swoon,  
Grave the vision Venus sends  
Of supernatural sympathy,  
Universal love and hope;  
While an abstract insight wakes  
Among the glaciers and the rocks  
The hermit's carnal ecstasy,

Certainty, fidelity  
On the stroke of midnight pass  
Like vibrations of a bell  
And fashionable madmen raise  
Their pedantic boring cry:  
Every farthing of the cost.  
All the dreaded cards foretell.  
Shall be paid, but from this night  
Not a whisper, not a thought.  
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:  
Let the winds of dawn that blow  
Softly round your dreaming head  
Such a day of welcome show  
Eye and knocking heart may bless,  
Find our mortal world enough;  
Noons of dryness find you fed  
By the involuntary powers,  
Nights of insult let you pass  
Watched by every human love.

~~<>~~

  
Archived: September 15, 2001 


End file.
